


He Watches

by daisypush



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Eye Contact, Food, Gen, Implied Cannibalism, Manipulation, Smoking, Spiders, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisypush/pseuds/daisypush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though you like to appear fearless, you are deeply frightened in this new and strange world that defies the laws of science. You are frightened even more so by the person who brought you here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Watches

**Author's Note:**

> I shoved in a reference to one of Wilson's field notes toward the end. o:
> 
> Using the headcanon that The Grue is Maxwell's hand/arm that's shown in the title screen.
> 
> EDIT this is old so it might not be up-to-date with how the game works now! sorry about that

It’s been half a day since that man brought you here. Half a day since you rubbed your head in confusion, wiping away a little dirt smear in the process. His words still echoed in your head, faintly. He was calling you “pal” as if he knows you, with his big cigar which makes you wheeze. His voice sounded like he smoked one too many of those Cuban beauties, much like a busted old instrument. You aren't even sure he’s real, but he can’t possibly be. The way he disappears in that swirling grey smoke cloud (which smells reminiscent of tobacco) through the ground almost certainly defies the laws set down by science. You do know one thing, though, you hate him.

It didn't take many days for you to figure out he was always there. He watches in the many soulless eyes of the spiders that skitter toward you at night passively, and in the single eye of the Tallbird who roam the day to protect what’s theirs aggressively. He manipulates the faces of the sun and moon and gazes from many angles as you scrabble for something to fill your stomach like you’re a game to him. As the sun sets, cackles crack through the howling of the hounds as they surround you, their mouths oozing with the purple stain of monster meat, the same color as their blood.

In the night, you can feel him alongside you. A chilling hand waves nearer when the fire gets to its lower levels to hold you tight in his grasp, fingertips curling around you, fingernails faintly scratching at your back. Once you thought to give up, throw yourself into the darkness, let the suffering end. You couldn't, though, he'd brought out another part of you; an animal driven by instinct. The second he dug his claws in you hastily scrabbled back to the safety of the fire, cursing yourself for such cowardice. The wide and many claw marks on your thigh are reminders that he takes comfort in your agony. He wants you to suffer here. They enforced that when you first sat by one of the many murky ponds -- bottomless pupils -- and hastily squeezed a wet strip of shirt onto the fresh wound, torch at your side in the midst of the darkness. The ruddy, watery smears dribbled down into a small stream separate from the pond. A nearby tentacle downhill -- almost certainly a tongue -- bubbled up in the soil and swiftly lapped it up when it neared. You wanted to cry at the sight, but you couldn't bring yourself to the deed, not when he was watching.

It’s been so long since that man brought you here. The lack of sleep and the purple meat that rests like a rock your belly can’t be good for you. This world has brought you to drastic measures, but that’s okay, science is nothing but drastic. Your hands tremble as you plop a log onto the going fire, smiling feebly as the darkness draws back from the flame, your beard stubble scratching at your nose with the movement. The skittering of a large arachnid no longer sends shivers down your spine, but you look up at the all too familiar foe anyway. He turns his body about to face you, his many dead eyes boring a hole into you through the tongue of the fire. His mouth opens up with pointy fangs jutting out, purple saliva dripping down to caress the lower fangs, “Hey, Pal," he rasps, in a voice he shouldn't own, "don’t starve.”


End file.
